Chapter 9: Red and Yellow

"Of all the places we could've picked, why'd we visit the dry, sandy, and blisteringly hot one?" Mission moans as they wander the arid grounds of Anchorhead. Revan isn't eager to traverse the desert world either, but she still maintains it as a better option than infiltrating the Sith burial grounds of Korriban, or diving for the Star Map on Manaan (oh how she isn't looking forward to that one).

"You can keep Zaalbar company." She offers. The Wookie's confined to the Ebon Hawk for the time they're on Tatooine; all that thick fur is a hazard in such hot climates. But Mission merely shakes her head and heaves a sigh.

"No thanks. Who knows how long we'll be here? I feel for Big Z, but there're only so many games of Pazaak a girl can play before going crazy."

"That's true." Revan chuckles. She knows the Star Map's in a cave out in the Dune Sea, but the desert will have changed in the time she's been gone. Trying to find the relic with her vague, outdated information will be like using an old-fashioned compass to navigate deep space. The thought of trekking through the scorched wasteland that is Tatooine's desert without a clear destination makes her terribly thirsty. "…Think there's a cantina in Anchorhead?" Revan wonders wistfully.

Bastila shoots her a reproving look. "If we wish to cut down the time, we'll need to begin our search immediately."

"Well what better place to begin than a cantina? Whether you're a criminal or some poor sod after a hard day's work, everyone ends up where the beer is." Revan reasons, but the Jedi is not convinced.

"We should not turn to such unsavory locales unless necessary." She chides.

Juhani watches them curiously and then gestures to a passing man dressed in a yellow and green Czerka uniform. "Perhaps the locals can provide us with information. Czerka has mining operations in the desert, does it not? They may have seen something."

"But the Czerka Corporation is also a company with the dubious reputation for being unethically opportunistic." Revan points out. "Remember their affiliation with the Sith? Doesn't that count as an 'unsavory locale'?" She isn't looking forward to doing business with the company again. They've always rubbed her the wrong way. They're worse than Kath hounds and only marginally better than Sith apprentices – you show a scrap of weakness, and they're at your throat with legal waivers and lawyers (and bounty hunters and black market modded blasters), never mind the fact that there's a war going on.

"Well we are in a Czerka controlled outpost." Mission unhelpfully notes. "We can't avoid them, you know? Well, we can try, but unless we all have stealth fields…"

Revan's lips set in a stubborn line. "I know," she sighs, "but I don't have to like it."


They locate Czerka Corporation's base of operations easily enough and arrive in time to hear the last of a furious Duros' tirade.

Revan isn't surprised.

"You'll be hearing about this, you Czerka puppet! I'm not going to let this drop! You can't just murder a whole village! And don't tell me to take my concerns to your corporate kiosk! I know when I'm not wanted!"

Revan watches the Duros storm out with interest. "What's this about murder?"

The woman in charge of the office looks at her with a pinched expression – or maybe she always looks like she's swallowed something sour. "It's nothing as unpleasant as you've just overheard."

"Care to clarify?"

The woman does not. She summarily drops the subject. "I'm sorry, but that really isn't your concern. Can I help you? These are the offices of Czerka Corporation. I trust you have business with the company?"

Having only grudgingly entered the building, Revan is in no disposition to deal with the brusque attitude and readies a withering retort (aren't protocol officers' jobs to be polite?) – only to have Bastila cut her off. "Yes, we are trying to locate an… artifact." The Jedi informs the woman politely. "Have your workers ever stumbled across any ruins out in the Dune Sea?"

The woman affords them a forced smile of apology. "I haven't heard of any such artifact. If you're archeologists or treasure hunters, I'm afraid you won't be able to search for it yourselves as we are no longer selling hunting licenses. There are too many people cavorting outside the walls as it is."

Revan narrows her eyes in disbelief. "And why would we need a license?"

"We use them to insure that only people judged fit by Czerka Corporation are allowed outside the city. We don't allow casual exploration because of legal concerns. Czerka Corporation takes no responsibility for loss of life on the dunes." The smile remains unwavering through the entire explanation; Revan finds it grating as well as creepy. Force, she hates Czerka.

Bastila purses her lips, undeterred by the news. "But this is… rather important to us. There has to be some way to acquire a license."

The woman eyes the four of them, gaze lingering on the weapons each of them carries. "Well… we normally charge two hundred credits, but I could ask for an exception if you agreed to perform a task for us." She considers slowly. "It's similar to hunting. The Sand People are becoming a problem. They destroy our sandcrawlers and kill our miners. One particular tribe is the worst. It's as if their chieftain has decided to wage a war against us. I would like their attacks... terminated." There's no malice in her words – for this woman, wiping out an entire clan is simple business.

Force, she hates Czerka.

Revan may not like the Sand People, but genocide is high up on her list of Things That Revan Definitely Does Not Approve Of (the Mandalorians sure felt her disapproval). Her hands itch for the lightsabers at her sides. Instead, she steps forward and meets the woman's gaze with a dark glower of her own. She hears Bastila breathe sharply at the sudden burst of anger.

The protocol officer also notices the sudden shift in mood. Her smile widens to an unnatural degree, but Revan can sense her unease. The woman takes the slightest step back as she holds out a hand in placation. "I'm sorry, but if you can't agree to the terms then I can't provide you with a license."

Revan's voice is forceful to the point of threatening. "We won't do your dirty work. You want to give us a hunting license, free of charge."

The effect is instantaneous. The protocol officer's face goes slack. She nods numbly. "I… have reconsidered my proposition. I think I'll give you a hunting license, free of charge."

Five minutes later they leave the Czerka office with a brand new hunting license and considerably less killing intent.

"I cannot approve of your haphazard use of the Force." Bastila reprimands the second the door shuts behind them. Her expression is wary. Revan understands the Jedi's concern – she's never lost her temper to such a degree in the time Bastila has known her; even when she'd discovered the Force Bond between the Jedi and her, she'd been able to keep her anger in check. Hopefully, she'll forget the incident once they're baking out on the dunes.

"Well it wasn't as if we were going to accept the job." Revan grumbles. "You never accept contracts from Czerka – those sharks will eat you alive."

"Well I'm glad we won't have to go around listening to Czerka." Mission pipes up, making a face. "She gave me the creeps."

Bastila shifts from Mission to Revan and huffs when she sees her concerns aren't shared. "We still have little idea of where the Star Map may be, and now the option of questioning Czerka is closed to us." She reminds them.

"Answers shall come to us with time." Juhani calms the Jedi in her soft, accented manner. "It has been little more than half a day since we first arrived on Tatooine. We need patience."

"And liquor." Revan interjects.

"You can drink on your own time." Bastila informs her briskly, a hand to her temple. She looks pained – they're certainly not the easiest group to handle. Revan almost feels sorry for her. "We shall return to the Ebon Hawk for the time being. Perhaps Carth will prove more helpful." The Jedi mutters.

Revan can't agree with the decision – they've barely explored Anchorhead (granted, there isn't much to explore), and she's in no mood to deal with the pilot who she's been avoiding ever since the fiasco in the cockpit. Not without a few beers, at least. "You head back – I'm going to find that cantina." She tells the tired woman.

"Very well," Bastila sighs, "but I cannot condone wandering off by yourself."

"I will accompany her." Juhani quietly volunteers. She turns to Revan. "If you are willing to have me?"

Revan shrugs. "Why not? The more the merrier."


"I feel I must apologize for the way I acted towards you before, in the grove. It was wrong of me."

Juhani's sudden apology in the middle of the streets of Anchorhead catches Revan by surprise. She turns to the Cathar bemusedly. "It was nothing. No harm no foul, right?"

But Juhani shakes her head and continues repentantly. "I am sorry for attacking you. I am sorry for thinking you would only try to kill me. I hope that by helping you in your task I may redeem myself in your eyes… and my own."

Revan's had countless heads bowed to her in the past begging for forgiveness and a second chance, but the Cathar's apology causes more discomfort than any of the Sith she's once commanded and damned if that isn't surreal. She hasn't helped Juhani out of kindness – she isn't the goodhearted Jedi the Cathar makes her out to be.

Revan is most definitely not the person to be asking for forgiveness when you fall.

The uncomfortable ex-Sith Lord scans the short domed structures of Anchorhead and is deeply relieved to catch sight of what she's looking for. "Oh, look – the cantina!" Revan leaves little time for Juhani to continue her apology as she hurries to the building.


The cantina turns out to be a single dim, smoky room, filled with the hum of conversation (legal and otherwise) and the low purr of a holographic band. It smells strongly of spice and a more unpleasant undercurrent of sweat, as if the cantina's owner had tried to hide the odor of numerous unwashed bodies, realized it as a lost cause, and promptly gave up.

"Cozy." Revan notes with a dry smile.

"That is one word for it." Juhani takes in the grubby cantina with cool familiarity and only the faintest hint of disgust. Revan's impressed; she's certain Bastila would have taken one look at the place and ran.

"You aren't from Dantooine." She observes.

Juhani pauses to look at her, surprised. "Yes… you are correct."

"Where did you grow up?" Revan tilts her head towards the stools; they sit before Juhani answers. The Cathar looks meaningfully at the cantina and its shady denizens.

"The hind end of space. A pit of a world, to be sure. Where Jedi rarely tread..."

"But you ended up a Jedi."

"We had heard of them. Well, everyone had, so that is not to be unexpected." A remembering smile graces her lips. "Champions of truth. Defenders of justice. Heroes of the Republic. It was very easy for a child to be enthralled by their image, their mystique. Maybe I was one of those children."

Heroes of the Republic... Where were they when the Mandalorians wiped out your race? Revan resists the urge to voice the thought. It wouldn't be very smart, and she's certain Juhani wouldn't appreciate it. "Did you meet a Jedi?" She asks instead.

"Yes... Yes I did. When I saw a Jedi for the first time they lived up to everything my imagination had created them to be. I was awed... and maybe a bit enamored..."

Revan grins at that. "Too bad Jedi are practically celibate. Can't be too exciting."

Juhani blinks rapidly, but to the Cathar's credit, she remains largely unruffled. "They were quite striking... especially the tales of their leader." She stares at her hands, neatly folded in front of her, and her eyes shine with reverence. "From that moment on I knew that I would have to try to become a Jedi. To lift myself out of the rut I had been living in for years and to make a real difference, as the Jedi were.

The foolish delusions of a child. But this child made it happen! As soon as I was able I left my world and went in search of them. I found them and was accepted. I had been living my dream on Dantooine for several years before you came."

"Sounds like the life." Revan agrees with thinly veiled sarcasm. Juhani takes no offense, caught up in her own thoughts. But the warmth of her memories can't keep the regret from her voice.

" Although... perhaps I was not entirely ready for it... or not completely suited to the task. Otherwise I would not have fallen..." Her gold eyes catch Revan's, and there is determination them. "But thanks to you I have been redeemed. Perhaps I may yet live to see that dream of mine come true."

Again there is that… respect. Respect for a façade Revan's created to progress through her mission as smoothly as possible. It won't be pretty if any one of her companions discovers who she really is, but the thought of maintaining her ruse is tiring. She doesn't use lies to advance her agenda – she's no politician. She's accustomed to people following her because they believe it's the right thing to do.

Then again, she can't honestly believe that after taking on the mantle as Dark Lord of the Sith (bastards even blew up her flagship).

She's reminded abruptly of what's changed in not only the year that she wasn't herself, but the many years since she went to war, and all of it is unwelcome and requires a drink to remedy.

Catching the bartender's attention, Revan slams her credits on the table and stares at the man forcefully. "Bring me your strongest."


That's how Revan discovers Tatooine Sunrise. There's a surprising kick to such an innocuously named drink; a blend of bright yellows and deep reds that's as strong as it is sweet. Drinking has always been more of a placebo than an effective cure to the affliction of thinking too much, but for the first time in months, Revan exits a cantina agreeably drunk.

"I can't wait to be off of this rock, but I'll miss the cantina." She happily tells the sky which is a pretty shade of red Revan thinks would taste like apples.

"I will not be sorry to see this place behind me." Juhani agrees as she watches the tipsy ex-Sith Lord with curiosity. Jedi never engage in such frivolous activities such as drinking, so she must be an odd sight indeed.

Revan's glad she's never been a very good Jedi.

Thankfully, being a good Jedi has nothing to do with being perceptive. Even drunk, Revan is able to catch the metallic glint of lightsabers peeking out of brown colored robes from an impressive ways away. The robed figures themselves seem harmless enough (for people departing Czerka Corp's offices), but she can sense their hidden intentions. There's dark energies emanating from the strangers, and she's certain the next few minutes are going to be more exciting than she's anticipated.

Revan glances to Juhani who has tensed beside her. The Cathar has noticed the company as well and grimly meets her gaze. They never break their stride, pretending not to notice the strangers, and Revan shifts their course from a direct route to the Ebon Hawk to a roundabout stroll through scarcely populated streets. When she sees the strangers keeping pace behind them, she carries on walking until the streets are empty.

Revan chooses that moment to stop and turns on her heels to face their unwelcomed company. "We're not interested in whatever you're selling." She informs them with a smile, appearing completely relaxed save for the hand gripping her lightsaber.

"There's no choice in the matter." One of the figures steps forward and Revan catches the glow of yellow eyes reflecting the red of Tatooine's setting suns. Sith.

"What do you want with us?" Juhani hisses.

The same man answers. "Lord Malak was most displeased to hear you made it off Taris alive."

"A pity. I was rather pleased myself." Revan's cool smile becomes a fierce grin. It's two against three – they're one fighter short, and the disadvantage makes her pulse quicken. She's drunk on adrenaline when she taunts him, "You must be pretty weak if you need to bring an extra underling to take care of us."

The angry red of Sith sabers spring life with a serpent hiss. "And you must be a fool." The man's eyes have narrowed to yellow slits and the three quickly close the distance. One of the Dark Jedi lunges at Juhani, who dodges the attack with feline grace and draws her attacker a safe distance away. The other two remain on Revan, and only at the last second does she strafe to the side to avoid twin blades from running her through. With momentum carrying them forward, Revan sticks out a foot to set one of the men off balance and brings down her blades with vicious strength.

Her sabers never touch the Dark Jedi as her second attacker sends his lightsaber flying toward her own. Her attack is parried and the downed Sith rolls to the side and leaps away to safety.

"Neat trick." Revan remarks as the two regroup and charge her once more. She ducks and dances and deflects the blows, getting more of a workout than she's had in a year. Jedi battles take more concentration than simple swordfights; one wrong move means certain death – armor won't stop an energy blade, flesh and bone may as well be butter. She notes that she'll have to put in some time for practice, since her reactions are definitely more sluggish than she recalls and she's having a strange issue with depth perception (that's probably the Tatooine Sunrise hard at work), and she's rather fond of keeping all her limbs.

But she's still more of a match for two mediocre Sith (while drunk, at that!). They can't break through her defense, and once Revan finds an opening she sends out a shockwave of Force that flings them like ragdolls. One of them skips across the ground and ends up a ways away, while the other flies into the side of a building. Large clouds of dust billow through the sky, disturbed by the action, but Revan doesn't need vision to locate the position of the closest Dark Jedi. She closes the distance in a matter of seconds, allowing the man no time to defend himself as she skewers him.

The smell of burnt flesh is quick to settle in, but Revan is more distracted by the fact that the second Dark Jedi has not reappeared to take advantage of the distraction of his comrade's death.

That's when she remembers she's not the only target.

Shit.

The second Dark Jedi has gone after Juhani, who's still in combat with her own. Even if she realizes the lightsaber making its way towards her unprotected back, Revan isn't so certain the Cathar will be able to react in time, and she's too far to cover the other Jedi.

So Revan decides there's only one perfectly reasonable thing to do.

She throws her lightsaber.

The purple blade goes spinning like some sort of neon propeller, humming through the air with a life of its own, and finally finds its target – the second Dark Jedi's arm. There's a sharp cry of agony as the now one-armed Sith stumbles backwards, his weapon now on the ground along with the hand gripping it.

"Neat trick." Revan repeats as she catches her lightsaber on its return, beaming. "I can do it too."

Juhani takes advantage of the distraction, making quick work of her first attacker in short and brutal strikes. He falls over, dead, leaving only the disarmed (literally, she thinks with a dark sort of humor and a stifled, drunken giggle) Dark Jedi kneeling with his only hand gripping his shoulder. There's no blood, the wound has cauterized instantly – the good thing about lightsabers is that they're rarely messy. Revan makes her way to Juhani and stops before the man.

"Kill me." He snarls through his pain. Juhani lifts her blue saber to comply, but wavers. Revan wonders if it's because she sees herself in this beaten man. She shouldn't – this man has most likely enacted more cruelty than she can ever think of.

Revan meets his bright yellow eyes. "First, tell us how Malak knows we're on Tatooine."

"You really are a fool." The man chokes out a dark laugh. "Kill me. It's a better fate than what lies for me if I were to return." He sneers up at Revan in a way no Sith would have dared to one year ago. "And is that not what you Jedipreach? Mercy?"

Revan taps her lightsaber thoughtfully. "I'm not a very good Jedi." She admits.

Juhani stares at Revan, expression one of profound unease. "What shall we do with him?"

"Jedi never kill unarmed targets." Revan muses. She studies the Dark Jedi – he's dangerous simply because he can use the Force, but at least he can no longer take up a blade. "You won't suddenly see the error of your ways and turn back to the light side, will you?" She asks hopefully. Her answer is a dark glower. She sighs. "Of course not."

Maybe it's the drink talking, or maybe some of the Jedi's damn code is finally sticking, but she knows she won't kill this man. She hopes it won't come back to bite her in the rear. "We'll take him prisoner." She decides, and a hard look silences any objections Juhani may have. "We can't turn him over to the authorities. This place is run by Czerka, and they'll definitely let him go. We can't risk it – he might report back to Malak, even though he's dead once his usefulness is over."

The man says nothing. She studies his yellow Sith eyes one last time. When had it stopped being a surprise for her to look in a mirror and see no yellow? "Don't waste this second chance, pal." She tells him bluntly.

Revan expects another sneer, angry words, maybe even a litany of curses and threats; what she doesn't expect is the smile. It only takes her a moment to notice the red lightsaber swooping in from behind. She ducks out of the way as the blade passes above, close enough to feel the air disturbed by the weapon's flight. But the Dark Jedi isn't aiming to kill her – she realizes this only after the red blade has ended up in the man's chest. He's dead before he hits the ground.

"Kriff!" Revan swears. She quickly pulls the saber out, but it's much too late. She lets out a string of expletives in a variety of languages until her heart stops racing.

"He chose death over redemption." murmurs Juhani, stunned.

"Not everyone agrees that what we offer is redemption." Revan grounds out, staring at the corpse with barely suppressed rage. She should be glad that the bastard killed himself – it makes her job easier. Yet she's angry, angrier than she should be over the death of some nameless Sith.

Revan's not drunk enough for this.


Once back on the Ebon Hawk, Revan calls a meeting in the main hold.

"You encountered Sith?" Bastila appears alarmed. "How is this possible? Were either of you injured?"

"I'm glad you made it back in one piece!" Mission exclaims, impressed.

"It's a shame I wasn't with you." Canderous growls, appearing somewhat put out.

"How did they know where we were?" Carth speaks up, troubled. "We only arrived on Tatooine today."

Revan finds the pilot's question most similar to her line of thinking. It's a worrying to imagine that Malak may know about their mission – it can only be worse if he's found out his old Master is still alive. "It's because…" She trails off as she recalls the incident with the protocol officer. That was most definitely her fault (though she'd rather eat week old synthesizer gunk than admit the fact to Bastila). "We had an encounter with Czerka. They probably pointed the Sith in our general direction." She finishes.

Carth furrows his brows. "I'm more concerned with the fact that they were on Tatooine in the first place."

"It's not surprising to have Sith on a Czerka planet– theydo business together. And Malak probably put out a notice for all Sith to be on the lookout for our fun little group. He'd like nothing better than to get his hands on Bastila, after all." Revan reasons. Said Jedi looks visibly ill at the mention of the Sith Lord's pasty, bony fingers on her person. It's unfortunate she isn't in the mood for jokes.

"Hopefully," Bastila struggles, "that is the only reason. Malak cannot come to discover our task."

"Well we'd better hurry." Revan sighs. She's certain they haven't seen the last of the Sith on Tatooine, and if Malak, ever trigger-happy, discovers Bastila is here, they may as well just sentence the planet to a future as space dust. "Tomorrow we'll start our search bright and early."

The discussion goes on for another hour and ends with the decision that any group heading into Anchorhead will consist of at least three people to make sure they're not caught unprepared like they were today. Although it's still early, Revan is considerably relieved to be able to retire.

She's staring blankly up at the ceiling from her position in bed when Bastila enters the women's quarters and takes the bed beside hers. A steady silence keeps between them until Revan grows annoyed with Bastila's obvious intention to speak with her fighting with her hesitancy to begin a conversation.

"Shan, you can either use the bed for its intended purpose or at least pretend you're not watching me." Revan tells her bluntly. Bastila stiffens in surprise but maintains her watchful gaze over the tired woman.

"You are troubled." She calmly utters. Revan finds the simple statement irksome enough to force herself upright to glare at the Jedi.

"No, of course not. Can't you tell? This is my happy face. It's a hit with children, you know."

Bastila throws her a sour look. "We share a bond. It is… difficult to keep silent when I sense that you are upset."

"You're such a sweetheart."

Bastila pointedly ignores her sarcasm and shoulders on. "Our connection allows us glimpses into each other's mind. We can feel some of what the other feels. And what I feel within you troubles me. A Padawan must receive considerable training. They must learn to control their emotions and darker impulses. Often it takes years before using the Force can be considered safe. The fact that you are so strong in the Force and have had such relatively little training could have terrible consequences. For you and for everyone around you."

Revan has to bite her tongue to keep from a vicious and possibly self-criminating response. Bastila has picked the absolute worst time to start one of her Jedi lectures. She breathes deeply and stares the younger woman straight in the eyes before saying, "I think I'm perfectly fine with the way I am."

"How so?" Bastila counters. "Self-control s a maxim for all Jedi. It is what gives us the strength to resist the dark side. All who have fallen from our Order have shown a flagrant disregard for such control." Her voice turns soft, but her words are accusing. "I've seen you give in to temptation and indulge your baser emotions on various occasions. I'm afraid you are on the path that leads to the dark side."

"And I'm afraid you are on the path of exaggeration." Revan quips dourly and is rewarded with a tight lipped glare of reproach. Perhaps she's being childish, but Bastila isn't making it any easier for herself. Revan could be sleeping right now instead of ruining both of their already dampened moods. Bastila doesn't speak for a long moment, and she allows the flicker of hope that her sentiment has made it through their bond.

That hope is crushed more brutally than bug in a black hole as the younger woman sits up with an expression of pure determination. "You need to see what the dark side represents in its entirety, for it is what we battle. Only the wisdom of a Jedi Master can truly explain this, but I will do my best to make you understand."

Force, kill me now.

Whereas Bastila may think she's doing Revan a favor by helping her on some mistaken quest for 'redemption', Revan sees it as slow torture (and she knows torture). She scrabbles for some way out of the Jedi's impending sermon and decides to appeal to her ego. "I don't think that's necessary. The bond works both ways, doesn't it? With your ability, you'll keep me on the path of the light." She implores with a trace of desperation.

If nothing else, she renders the usually vocal Jedi speechless for an impressive minute. Revan is almost convinced she's grown a second head before Bastila coughs lightly and composes herself. "I will not fall for such an obvious ploy. Such immaturity is quite unbecoming, Aria."

Revan props her head in her hands to hide her amused grin and can't help but keep at it, "You could warn me when I do something bad. Blink once for dark side, twice for light."

"This is not a joke!" Bastila huffs, flustered. "The choices you make could affect both our destinies, not to mention the fate of the Republic and the entire galaxy!" She doesn't allow Revan an opportunity to speak, barely taking a breath as she continues. The words come out in a flurry of urgency and frustration. "You will understand the severity of your actions. The dark side is not simply giving in to anger or temptation to use the Force to destructive ends. These things only lead to the dark side. The dark side grows stronger and more insidious the closer you draw to it. It begs you to surrender to it, to release all its terrible power... and it becomes harder and harder to resist. And once you stop resisting, it is too late. It twists you up inside and... and turns you into a mockery of everything you once stood for!"

The sense of fun from the previous few minutes is gone in an instant. Revan maintains an air of affability, but she's afraid of what she'll say if the conversation carries on. "Stop with the dramatics already, I get the picture." She murmurs, but Bastila stubbornly ignores her entreaty.

"You say you understand, but I'm afraid you are taking this too lightly. The power of the dark side can be... alluring." Revan glimpses an expression akin to fascination overcome the Jedi. It's gone in the blink of an eye, and she's not certain it was ever there in the first place as a more understandable solemnity takes its place. "We need only to look at the atrocities which have been committed by those under its sway to understand the terrible, corrupting evil of the dark side. Millions dead, and far more suffering. What sort of person would you have to become to perform such deeds gladly?"

Revan's countenance becomes cold. "Are you saying the light side is innocent of killing?"

"One who serves the light side does not strike down an innocent. We take arms against the dark side and the injustice that follows it only." Bastila replies without hesitation.

Revan would later agree that she could use some lessons in self-control, if just for self-preservation. She barely considers the consequences of her next words, spilled out in a wave of familiar, longstanding anger. "What about those who died while the Order sat on their hands?" She all but snarls, "Or were all those killed by the Mandalorians not innocent enough for you?" Apathy is death. Kreia's words resound fiercely with a deep-rooted resentment Revan has long thought dulled by time.

The air shudders with unseen tension, fit to snap at the slightest mistaken breath. Bastila inhales sharply. "Excuse me?"

"You can't think that it's only those who take up arms who kill." Revan grits out, trying to reign in the old hatred that has reared its ugly head. Bastila can speak of the 'corrupting evil of the dark side' all she wants, but Revan will remember the passivity that destroyed worlds in a war that the Jedi should have joined.

Bastila's voice wavers. Her wide-eyed stare makes Revan uneasy. "The… the Masters knew there was something lurking beyond known space; something significantly more dangerous than the immediate threat of the Mandalorians. But they would have eventually intervened."

She's tired of that ragged old excuse, but Revan's already treading a dangerously fine line, arguing with Bastila like this. She'll lose more than she'll gain if Bastila realizes that she remembers. "Okay. Okay." She puts a hand over her eyes, and refuses to meet the Jedi's nervous gaze. "The Masters know best. Who am I to argue? You can lecture me all you want – later. But can you just… please let me sleep for now? It's been a long day."

There's the rustle of cloth as she stands without argument, though there is a pause as she hesitates near the exit. There's the slightest hitch of breath as Bastila considers speaking, but Revan knows there's little more to say, and so does she. She departs without another word.


"Tell me again why you want to know more about me?" Revan blinks at the younger woman tiredly and ponders over the other's pale, flawless skin. She must have some secret for maintaining such a healthy complexion. Revan has acquired noticeable bags under her eyes from a restless night, yet Bastila has come out perfectly fine after their worrisome little episode.

"I saw your service records when you were transferred aboard the Endar Spire, but nothing beyond that. I know very little about you. I'd like to ask you some questions, given our relationship." Bastila explains, matter-of-fact. Since Revan knows that Bastilaknows everything about her (well, hopefully not everything), she doesn't buy it for a second.

Unfortunately, refusing to answer will only raise the suspicions of two people in their current motley group roaming the hot, dry grounds of Anchorhead. Revan finds herself infinitely grateful for Canderous' lack of interest in matters outside of honor and combat (and that damned swoop bike).

She isn't sure why Carth has decided to join them today when they've both been so adamant in avoiding each other. The only good thing about the arrangement is that she can count on him to remain professional when it counts. She fixedly ignores the pilot as she gives Bastila a curt nod of agreement. The Jedi's smile is one of pure relief. She'd evidently thought Revan would put up more of a fight. "Don't worry, these are simple questions. Nothing too intrusive. First, what kind of background do you have?"

"I enlisted with the Republic for a while, but when my tour of duty ended I hung up my uniform for a mercenary's blade." Revan says without missing a beat.

"On which planet were you born?"

"Deralia. It's in a remote system. You probably haven't heard of it."

"Your current age is?"

"3,012. Healthy living, you know." That elicits an amused snort from Canderous, probably more so because of Bastila's expression than her joke. She's mildly disappointed by the pilot's lack of reaction, but that can only be expected when he's too busy brooding. Not wanting to receive an earful, she makes to put the spotlight back on Bastila, stares at her pointedly, and asks, "Wasn't all this in my service records?"

Bastila doesn't even blink. "Truth be told, I was curious about our discussion yesterday. And your response." The Jedi's acting is better than Revan first assumed; the other two of their party don't even think to ask what they'd discussed.

"Due to my history, there's some bad blood between me and… certain parties." Revan says just as ambiguously. Let Bastila think she blames the Order for the loss of her imaginary parents to the Mandalorians. Even if the younger woman's reservations persist, she wouldn't dare tip Revan off with any obvious signs of suspicion.

"So you were a mercenary, Blackmoor," Canderous observes with a rough sort of interest, "Your line of work must make you familiar with battle."

"Oh, yes." Revan nods sagely. "Lots of battles. Lots of adventures. I'd enlighten you but I'm afraid the story may be too colorful for our princess to handle." The use of the nickname Canderous gave Bastila from an earlier conversation makes the Jedi bristle.

"I am certainly no princess! Have I not told you of the training I underwent to arrive where I am today?"

"A princess who could probably take on a dozen men by herself – if she hasn't misplaced her lightsaber. That better?" Revan grins. Bastila glares. With a roll of her eyes, Revan surrenders. There's no harm in recounting a story or two of her brief career as a mercenary on the Outer Rim. "Fine, I'll tell you about this one incident on Nar Shaddaa a while back. I'd signed up for a 'transport job' – only slightly illegitimate, don't look at me like that. Somehow I got caught up in a funny misunderstanding that landed me outside the Jekk' Jekk Tarr with an angry Trandoshan and a set of Twi'lek underwear…"

Revan's outlandish story even rouses a smile from Carth. Strangely pleased, she jumps into another one of her escapades on another less than savory planet. Perhaps Aria began as a fictional personality, but her short-lived existence and experiences became real enough for Revan. It was… fun to explore the galaxy the way she had, out on the frontier armed with nothing but freedom, a set of vibroblades, and no memories to weigh her down.

"So these idiots were smuggling Rontos, of all things! But they hadn't known it was right in the middle of mating season for the poor beasts." Revan gestures animatedly with her hands, enjoying her narration with mischief bright in her eyes as they pass some of Tatooine's native Rontos near Anchorhead's cantina, "There's this scent female Rontos give off, you know, when they're in heat, and Rodians have the misfortune of smelling just like it! One of the Rodian smugglers got too close – not at my suggestion, of course, and then –"

The cantina doors burst open. A Duros storms out and past them, muttering furiously to himself about the gall of the human species. Revan's train of thought derails completely. "What's got his knickers in a twist?" The cantina has suddenly become even more appealing than usual.

"Perhaps we should investigate." Bastila suggests, unable to conceal her own curiosity. She grows defensive when Revan throws her a disbelieving look. "As you said yesterday, this place could prove fruitful to our search."

"I'm not arguing with you." Revan turns to head for the cantina as well as hide her grin. They enter to the heady scent of filth and loud and angry voices.

"You should show us some respect, lady." Two humans and a Twi'lek encircle an older woman like Kath hounds to prey, but the woman is not impressed, eyeing them with an upturned nose.

"I will show respect to those who have earned it." She sniffs. Revan can't quite put her finger on it, but there's something familiar about her.

One of the two human males slams a hand on the table the woman is seated at, rattling and spilling the full cup of liquid over the dark wooden surface. "We earn our keep out there," he gestures wildly towards some unknown land, and that's when Revan realizes they're all drunk, "risking life and limb. We hunt beasts with teeth as large as your arm! They'd eat you for a snack and use your bones as toothpicks!"

"What a wonderful image." The woman raises an aristocratic brow. "It is apparent you have nothing better to do, but must you waste my time as well?"

The exchange is threatening to reach a violent end. Revan won't tolerate browbeating in her presence and lays a hand atop her lightsaber. In her periphery she sees Carth doing the same with his pistols, and Canderous is most definitely sizing their targets up.

And then her line of thought grinds to an abrupt halt with a single, startled word.

"Mother?"

Seven heads turn to Bastila with varying degrees of shock and confusion.

"Wait, so that's your…" Revan trails off as everything clicks into place. She can certainly see the family resemblance.

One of the men smiles unkindly as his attention is drawn to Bastila. "So the old broad has a daughter." His smile transforms into a leer. "I'm shocked to see what a pretty little thing she is, considering how much of an ill-mannered harpy you are."

"How 'bout I buy you a drink?" The second man slurs, stumbling towards the Jedi. "Your mom acted real impolite... wanna make it up to us?"

The confrontation is coming to a head. Bastila is seething in wordless indignation, and Revan is ready to jump in the second one of the thugs so much as lifts a blaster.

Shockingly, it's not any one of them who acts first.

"You will leave my daughter out of this, you swine!" Bastila's mother announces severely and empties the contents of her glass onto the nearest hunter. He splutters and furiously wipes the liquid out of his eyes, free hand retaliating blindly. He seizes the older woman's arm and pulls her forward, but Revan is beside them in an instant, grasping his wrist and twisting. He hollers in pain and releases his hold, stumbling backwards, but Revan yanks him back and knees him in the nether regions, eliciting a remarkably high-pitched shout before he pitches into a table.

"On your left!" Carth warns the next second and Revan crouches low to the ground as the Twi'lek fires his blaster. It misses and leaves a dark burn on the wall, but the pilot is returns fire. Only two shots sound, but they're all that's needed. One sends the Twi'lek's blaster flying out of his outstretched hand, the next grazes the hunter's leg to cripple and he tumbles to the grimy cantina floor, cursing. Seeing his companions so easily taken down, the last hunter doesn't even touch his weapon and flees.

Revan wipes the grime from her hands as she stares at mother and daughter. "What are the chances?" She marvels with a shake of her head.


"I can't believe your mother single-handedly instigated a cantina brawl." Revan informs her annoyed companion with unmistakable admiration. "It was…"

"Humiliating? Reckless? Unbelievably irresponsible?"

"Amazing." Revan beams. The only downside was being kicked out of the cantina (for discharging firearms – apparently fights are fine as long as it's delegated to fists), though they probably would have left anyhow.

"I apologize for protecting my daughter from corrupt deviants." Helena interjects with no genuine remorse. Bastila bristles and whirls to face her mother.

"I can take care of myself, mother." The term takes on the quality of an insult when Bastila says it. Years of Jedi training are instantly forgotten the moment she stepped outside with Helena. "If you haven't already forgotten, you gave me away to the Order. This thing strapped to my side? It's a lightsaber."

"Isn't this a lovely reunion? Already she's flinging insults at me." Helena glances at Revan, disapproving. "Tell me… you're one of her friends. Do you treat your mother this way?"

"Oh, she's dead." She answers glibly. Revan never knew her mother, but if this is what familial relationships are like, she's rather glad not to have had such affairs of her own.

Helena sighs and seems to deflate. "Is that so? Well, I'll be joining her soon enough, I suppose."

"What are you talking about? Where is Father?"

The quiet resolve Revan saw before has nearly vanished into a great weariness. The lines of age are thrown into stark relief. "Then you haven't heard. I should have known."

Bastila stiffens. The breath catches in her throat. "Has something happened to him? Are you going to tell me or not?" She demands.

The no-nonsense manner of the older woman's voice takes on an edge of gentleness. "Your Father is dead, Bastila."

Bastila doesn't immediately respond. She's shocked, but it's quick to make way for anger. "Dead? What happened? What did you do to him?!"

"Such sweet things you say! Perhaps I should tell you everything, first, before we start arguing again."

The bitterness being generated is enough to curl toenails. This is unfinished family business Revan isn't convinced she wants to poke her nose into. It certainly isn't her place to listen in on private family affairs. Thankfully, when they were ejected from the cantina, Revan noticed a Jawa follow them out; Jawas aren't known for their trust of outsiders, and she's undeniably curious as to what the tiny scavenger wants. An excuse prepared, Revan cuts in before estranged mother and daughter can continue their discussion.

"I'm sorry, but you'll have to excuse us. We have important business to attend to, though I don't want to interrupt such personal matters. Shan," Revan glances at Bastila, "finish up back on the Ebon Hawk." Bastila is ready to protest, but she wants to know of her father's fate badly enough to deal with the issues of her mother and nods soundlessly.

They leave the two outside the cantina. Once out of hearing range, Revan exhales noisily. "Shan women are quite frightening when put together."

"Should we really have left them alone? Is she going to be okay?" Carth asks, glancing back in the direction they'd departed.

Revan waves a dismissive hand. "She'll pull through." She has to – Jedi don't have the luxury of moping about. And they're not going to spend the day listening to family drama when Bastila is a perfectly able adult who can (hopefully) take care of her own issues.

"The Jedi princess has some fight in her after all." Canderous agrees.

"You would approve." Revan accuses without heat. And then more loudly, "Jawa, come out. I know you're waiting to speak with us." A pause. Then a small figure comes shuffling out of an alley and slowly comes to a stop before them. Bright yellow orbs peer up at Revan, though she's more surprised by how she hadn't noticed the Jawa from its potent smell alone.

The Jawa chirps up at her and her alone. "We do not wait to speak with all. Jawas wish to speak with you, not the others of your kind."

Simplified Jawaese isn't difficult to learn, but it is irritating to keep pace with. Revan takes a moment to familiarize with the rapid dialect and absorb the words. Finally, she frowns. "Why me?"

"There are many of us, but not where you can see. From before, we see you and other fight with swords made of light. Iziz thinks yours can help ours. Speak to him, near the doors where all leave. We trade for things you want, if help is given." Message passed on, the Jawa departs.

Canderous watches with the bored look of incomprehension, but Carth furrows his brows. "They need help, but they couldn't even clarify what they want from us."

"I think that's why we're meeting Iziz." Revan points out.

"You can't keep making decisions on your own." Carth chides, though he doesn't disagree. "At the very least there's no harm in talking to this Iziz. It might even turn out to be useful."


Somewhere between the cantina and Anchorhead's entryway, they lose Canderous. The Mandalorian suddenly stops following and veers off for some unknown destination, undeterred by Revan's query as to where the hell does he think he's going. But she's not overly concerned – if Canderous couldn't take care of himself she wouldn't have personally enlisted his help.

"So much for the Party of Three rule." Revan sighs. It's only Carth and her now. On a better day that would be perfectly fine, but as they left off on shaky terms, the silence that ensues is nothing short of awkward. "So, back at the cantina. Nice... shooting." She comments rather inelegantly.

"Thanks. Nice… reflexes." Carth says right back, replicating her pause to the last microsecond. Revan's almost convinced he's making fun of her.

"My response time is above average." Revan agrees modestly, "I would have dodged the shot even if you hadn't spoken up." And then she thoughtfully adds, "But I appreciated the warning."

Carth rolls his eyes. "Just don't make a habit out of being shot at."

Revan smirks and sends him a mock salute. "Yes sir, commander, sir."

They share a wry look at that. The chain of command on the Ebon Hawk ambiguous at best (technically, they are acting under the Order's wishes, but no one would willingly declare Bastila the captain), and both of them know Revan has a problem with obeying authority figures. They continue walking as another silence falls upon them, though it's remarkably less stifling.

Revan breaks it to satisfy a question that has been buzzing insistently in the back of her mind. "Are we okay?" She glances over to the pilot with one expectant, raised brow.

Carth tenses before he slows his pace to face Revan directly, brown eyes honest. "About that. I, ah... I'm not very good at this. I… I know I owe you an apology. Uh, more than one, probably." He tells her, guilt evident. Revan doesn't say a thing and simply gestures for him to go on. "I was just so desperate to finally face Saul directly in the battle over Taris, and now the Jedi have us looking for these… these Star Maps. I'm no Jedi – most of this goes right over my head. I just hate not knowing what's going on and feeling this... helpless." His lips set into a firm line, his expression one of resolve. "But I shouldn't have taken it out on you. You didn't deserve that."

Revan can think of several things off the top of her had to change that opinion, but she isn't going to mention any of them. "That took you a while." She snorts.

"What can I say? I guess I'm a prideful man." Carth admits ruefully. "I've been a royal pain in the backside, haven't I?"

"Onasi, you don't know the half of it."

Carth chuckles. "Well… I guess I should be at least a little pleased that I haven't lost my touch. So… I'm sorry. Will you accept my apology?"

Despite popular opinion, Revan is not a spiteful woman. She doesn't hold grudges for long (the Order being that rare exception) – they're foolish and senseless and they don't help to get the job done, and Revan always gets the job done. So instead of letting any issues between her and the pilot linger, she smiles mischievously and says in a tone that can't be mistaken for anything other than playfulness, "I don't know… Maybe you should work for it, a bit."

Carth sends her a faint, relieved smile, and then it's gone as they settle into familiar, welcomed habits. "Oh?" The pilot feigns reluctance, "I don't know if I like the sound of that."

"Don't you want me to accept your apology?" Revan asks innocently. Carth raises a brow.

"I don't know. What am I going to have to do for it?"

For the briefest instance, Revan isn't quite sure what she's going to say, but logic is quick to return and she adheres to it with religious fervor because how in the world can she not reply with a witty retort? "Blow away the bad guy. Save the damsel in distress. The usual." She says, smiling widely. Carth allows a short laugh.

"Oh, the usual. Well that's not so hard. Let's get to it, then, shall we?"


"Are you Iziz?"

The Jawa in question glances over to them and tilts his head in confirmation. "I am Iziz of the Jawa." He's wedged between a tan building and Anchorhead's protective wall, almost hidden from sight. The giant spheres Jawas call eyes practically glow in the shadow of the structures.

"One of your people directed us to you." Carth informs Iziz straightforwardly. "They said you wanted our help."

"There are troubles from the ghosts among the sands." Iziz agrees, and though the pilot was the one to initiate conversation, he directs his unblinking gaze to Revan. "You of your kind can help Iziz." Revan isn't so sure she enjoys the attention – she's had enough of yellow eyes and vague messages to last a lifetime.

"I could help," She nods slowly, "but that depends on what you're asking."

The Jawa shuffles forward until he's just out of arm's reach. "Iziz, I am," he greets, "Leader of the tribe that is mine. You are the same in kind, a leader that stands before your tribe?"

The observation takes her aback. She supposes taking a year off hasn't completely done away with her air of authority, though she's in command of no one these days. It's frustrating, if she's honest with herself – she's given out orders for so long, and now she can barely handle the Ebon Hawk's small crew (she can't help but wonder if it's just that everyone loves to contradict her, or if she simply has a knack for picking up argumentative companions).

She can sense Carth's amusement as well. "Leader of our tribe? Heh. That's a new one." He chuckles.

The remark is ignored by Iziz (though Revan takes a moment to elbow the pilot). "There are troubles that we have. The giants made of sand, they are horned ghosts that take us away."

"…Sand People?" Revan translates bemusedly.

"That is how you know them. Giants are different for us, we being smaller. People of Sand are who I mean."

"You're having trouble with the Sand People. They're… taking your people away?" Revan continues, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose – or to shake the Jawa until he starts making sense. Iziz isn't making himself easy to understand. "Do you want us to find them?"

Iziz chirps rapidly at her deduction. "There has been no help given by asking the great group that digs with machines. Now Iziz asks you. I ask that you find us, and then bring away from the People of Sand. Then we will offer a trade with you. Long have we scavenged, among you and those that came before. We have things you will like for this service."

The last half of the explanation is unexpectedly useful. She tries not to sound too eager as she asks for clarification. "Tell me more about 'those that came before.'"

"You stand on Anchorhead, a place named and named again. You come to dig, but it was already dug. Settled over and over. Also long ago, ships fell after battles above. Now we scavenge and find the pieces." Iziz gestures to her with an outstretched hand, "You dig the ore and dirt. In time from now, we will dig you."

That's right – the Rakatans once occupied this planet. Being proficient scavengers,the Jawas would have stumbled across remnants. Revan feels rather silly to not have considered the possibility herself.

She kneels down to meet Iziz at eye-level in mounting excitement, paying no heed to the Jawa's remarkable stench (she's going to need a long shower later though). "I'm looking for something called a Star Map. Can you help?"

Iziz begins speaking even more rapidly. His hands move in quick, excited motions. "These things I know! Yes! From those that came before, the guide to lights far and away. I can tell you! Please, first help the tribe of Iziz among the People of the Sand, and we will trade what we each need."

Revan senses no deception from the tiny cloaked figure, but she hasn't lived this long on trust alone. She glances to Carth, who shakes his head. He needs verification as well, before they even think about agreeing to a deal. "You'll tell me after I help you? How can I trust your word?"

"I know this! Listen to the words I could not know without seeing it!" Iziz chirrups almost desperately. "A map of stars to those from before! Please release the tribe, and I will make this known to you. Your rewards will be fair with me."

Again, there's not an iota of dishonesty given off by the Jawa. Revan stands upright and turns to Carth. "He's telling the truth. I can feel it."

Carth frowns. "Is this your Jedi training speaking?" At her confirmation, he sighs wearily. "Guess we're making a trade."

It's not the preferred outcome and Revan isn't thrilled to be jumping through hoops once again, but they've stumbled across a solid lead that may very well take them straight to the Star Map and she can't ignore that. She faces the Jawa, resigned to take on this one task. "Iziz, you've got yourself a deal. We find your friends, you show us the Star Map."

"Iziz hopes you have the luck you need." Iziz tilts his head in a short bow of respect. The deal is made.


A/N: A rather bland ending, but hopefully the chapter itself was enjoyable enough. Have a merry Christmas or whichever winter holiday of your choosing! This early and rather long chapter (20 pages in Word, baby!) is a gift from me to you. Thank you guys for reading this little project of mine!

I also want to say this before I forget: updates will probably become less frequent. I started this story partially because of NaNoWriMo and continued even after I failed miserably at the challenge (two months for 50k words ain't so bad… right?), but without a time limit I have no reason to hurry. I usually had one or two chapters already prepared a week in advance, but I've grown progressively lazier and barely finished this one in time.

But maybe by taking my time, the quality will improve…? (Hah, good joke!)